


Payback

by TheFierceBeast



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Humiliation, Humiliation kink, M/M, Magical Bondage, Oral Sex, Payback, Revenge Fantasy, Rimming, Suspension, Voyeurism, but not really, dubcon, kind of, snupin - Freeform, upside down rimjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-24 00:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15618177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFierceBeast/pseuds/TheFierceBeast
Summary: Written in 2004.Original summary: "This is because the original Snape's-worst-nightmare scene in OotP traumatized me for life."





	Payback

 “Why do you hate them still? After all this time?” Lupin spoke under his breath, smiling brightly, tightly, at anyone who caught his eye in the crowded dining hall even as he said the words. “They’re both dead, for pity’s sake, how long can you bear a grudge?”

Next to him, Snape sniffed disdainfully and made no pretence at polite conversation. He didn’t turn to look at Lupin as he said, “I notice that you fail to include yourself in the term _them_.”

He sat, stiff-backed on his mahogany chair, pushing food around his plate with disinterest. Lupin sighed and continued quietly, “You know that I didn’t approve of the way they were with you.”

“Ah. Obviously that was the reason you took such pains to dissuade them from their _sport_.” The sneer in his voice was palpable even without seeing his face.

Lupin half turned in his seat and hissed, “I couldn’t, Severus, I couldn’t risk jeopardizing my friendship with them. You know that. You know how cruel teenagers can be. What they knew about me, they could have made my life hell-”

“Strangely, I don’t recall giving you leave to use my first name.” Snape’s voice was icy.

“Sev- _Professor_ , please. It was over 20 years ago.” Lupin rested his chin on his cupped hands, tried hard to look earnest. “If I could go back in time and take all of that flak instead of you, believe me, I would.”

Snape looked at him, then, deep-set black eyes calculating, one peaked brow elegantly arched. “Would you indeed?” he said.

**

“I’m not happy about this.”

Indeed, standing in the centre of an empty classroom, Lupin was the perfect picture of disconcertion.

Snape snorted and muttered a locking charm in the direction of the door. He steepled his fingers, cracked his knuckles pointedly, one by one. “Whereas I was perfectly ecstatic to bear the brunt of the majority of your happy little band’s,” his voice was acidic as he spat the words, “ _innocent jests_.” Lupin squared his shoulders and sighed. Snape nodded briskly. “Your wand.”

“What?”

“Your wand, if you please.” He held out one long, white hand. His fingers twitched slightly as if in anticipation and Lupin almost laughed.

“I’m not giving you my wand!”

The outstretched hand clenched and unclenched, once, quickly. A pensive, thwarted fist. Lupin remembered the skinny, ugly young man of decades past. Terrible skin and the sort of nose you grow into, as his grandmother would’ve said. Snape may have grown up - well, a matter of opinion - yet he was still, clearly, the same boy inside. Lupin rolled his eyes, feeling suddenly guilty. “Fine.” He slid his wand from the pocket of his robes and handed it over reluctantly. “But this stays in this room. No floating me out of the window and dumping me in the lake. Deal?”

Snape nodded. The corner of his mouth twitched minutely as if he were in danger of smiling. And Lupin felt the ground lurch suddenly beneath him, his legs jerked abruptly from under him as if he were lassoed and tied to a runaway coach. He yelped in surprise, the breath knocked out of him, until after a few seconds he realized that he was hanging suspended upside down in mid-air with his robes flapping about his head.

The memories began to gain a technicolour clarity.

Lupin flailed his arms futilely, trying to push his robes clear of his face so he could at least see the room. Pointless. The blush he felt colouring his face wasn’t entirely due to the blood rushing to his head. The somersaults his stomach was turning weren’t all because of the sudden, fairground disorientation of being flipped upside down.

In his mind’s eye he saw a distant recollection of James Potter, a dim remembrance of himself, watching. Biting his lip with his sharp teeth and feeling all kinds of sorry and guilty and sympathetic and horrified and… and… and _not saying a word_.

The room echoed with Snape’s footsteps, the measured sounds of his steel-toed boots on the floorboards as he paced, in a torturously slow circle around his captive. All Lupin could see was the floor and Snape’s feet to the ankle. His black robes swinging. The toes of his boots more pointed than he’d ever noticed before, and polished within an inch of their lives. Lupin struggled vainly. Would it be more satisfying for Snape if he struggled? More realistic? Sweeter revenge?

Those teenage feelings were creeping back unbidden and Lupin shut his eyes against them, wishing Snape would say something, anything, to bring him back to the present. He tried to bend his knees, shake himself free, but all he succeeded in doing was to cause himself to spin ponderously, as if hung by the ankles from an invisible cord.

**

Snape surveyed the scene with a little less vindictive joy than he’d anticipated. Yes, it was thrilling. Yes, satisfying to see one of them suffer. But something else gnawed at him. Something long buried.

He stopped pacing and observed placidly as the last marauder, his face and upper body obscured by his robes, squirmed. Tried to sit up in mid-air, the taut muscles of his flat stomach straining, his white skin scored with silvery scars. His whole body trembled with the effort as he rotated slowly, slowly, strung up by the magical noose.

Snape licked his lips, told himself that he was breathing no faster than usual. No. Now what came next?

Oh yes.

 

**

Lupin knew what was coming next. After all, he’d witnessed it himself and if he’d only intervened then, this would not be happening now. Things like that _do_ things to a person, he told himself. Told himself that of course he wasn’t breathing any harder than normal and if he was, well, the stress of being inverted and strung up by a vengeful sociopath would do that to a man.

The first touch of fingers on his hips gave Lupin a physical jolt. _Memory-James says, vindictively, ‘who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?’ and Memory-Remus feels that same shock of horror and sickness and horrible, sick excitement._

Lupin twisted instinctively away, rocked, sea-sick, and the hands tightened their grip, steadying him. This wasn’t how it happened. No misinterpret-able hands-on shenanigans back then, oh no, just magic, plain old magic doing all the dirty work and Remus at fifteen watching, round-eyed, from behind his barricading textbook.

Maybe it made him grow up a little… _strange_?

When Snape’s fingers dipped inside the waistband of Lupin’s underwear, Lupin let out a groan. Pictured those slim, clever fingers on him. Snape proceeded, tugging Lupin’s briefs up over his hips, his hard-on released with a heavy, wet slap against his belly. When Snape spoke for the first time, the words were predictably caustic, but the tone was shockingly velvet.

“Ah. Now I see why you didn’t feel the inclination to intervene. You obviously assumed that everybody finds the experience of public humiliation as arousing as you evidently do.”

The retort formed in Lupin’s mind, _Let me down, you mad bastard! Son of a squib! Bloody pervert!_ but somehow couldn’t make it past his lips. His arms had lost their strength, his muscles turned to water and how would it look if he struggled now, besides? Indecent. Undignifed. Immeasurably worse.

He _knew_. He’d _seen_. And he’d played it over and over in his mind for months afterwards, burrowed beneath his bedclothes past midnight, touching himself and wondering desperately why those awful thoughts made him need to have one off the wrist…

Snape was pacing again. Gloating. Admiring - the word popped into Lupin’s head unbidden and his cock twitched shamefully. He could almost feel the weight of that appraising black gaze upon his bare skin and the more mortified he became, the better it felt.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

“What the devil is wrong with you, werewolf?” Snape’s voice was the perfect blend of disgust and fascination. Lupin was glad then, that he couldn’t see the other man’s face. That Snape couldn’t see his. It’s not murder if you close your eyes…

The footsteps stopped and the silence mocked him, tense as a held breath. Then it shattered at his startled cry as something, a finger, stroked along the crack of his arse, through the soft hair there.

A response would be entirely inappropriate, so Lupin clenched his teeth, rolled his eyes back, as he felt himself spread gently, almost lovingly and something was very amiss because the person doing that couldn’t, could not possibly be the person it would logically appear to be…

The person blew softly across his arsehole and Lupin bucked his hips, forgetting all pretense of indignant restraint, gasping angrily, “You damned tease, Snape!”

He thought he heard a chuckle, but the blood pounding in his ears made it difficult to discern and when he felt the wet, questing tip of a tongue his own moans drowned out any other sound.

“Oh sweet Merlin, yes…” Hands gripped his hips and that serpentine tongue pushed insistently, fucking him. Lupin, disengaged, floating in air. He tried to reach backwards, to the figure behind him, but his hands got tangled in his robes and Snape sidestepped. Changed position, the toes of his boots directly in Lupin’s view. When Snape spoke, his voice decided and low, Lupin could feel the man’s breath hot against his skin, his belly, tormentingly close.

“Beg me.”

 _What? I’d rather sell my soul, you emotionally stunted ophidian!_ The appropriate answer entered Lupin’s brain at approximately the same moment as a frustrated, lupine whine exited his throat. He felt the barest flicker of tongue along his prick and the words came of their own accord.

“Please, you win, I’m begging, anything, please!”

Snape said, smoothly, “My, my. That didn’t take much persuasion.” And then Lupin felt himself slide into the close heat of that smart mouth.

He felt near to blacking out. Lupin encircled Snape’s waist with steadying arms, his face pressed into stifling layers of heavy black serge, his robes and Snape’s. The harder it became to breathe, the closer he was, an unrelenting assault of feeling. Locked together, Snape’s arms around him, too. Snape’s mouth hungry and thorough whilst his long, graceful fingers resumed their intimate violation.

When Lupin came, every one of his nerve endings seemed to sizzle, the breath knocked from him once more. Maybe he did pass out, momentarily, for the next thing he was aware of was being lowered with merciful sedateness to the floor. He lay, gasping, with the distinct sensation that he was still spinning. His head pounded. Being upright didn’t seem quite so natural any more as he scrambled to right his robes, to cover himself up and regain some small kind of dignity.

The light stung his eyes after so long spent to all intents blindfolded. When they adjusted, Lupin saw Snape standing at the window, his distinctive profile silhouetted against a pale sky. Sleek and unruffled and looking infuriatingly as if nothing at all had happened. Lupin rubbed his eyes, shook his head as if that would clear it. “What just… Snape..?”

Snape turned to regard his colleague; a rumpled, flustered heap on the floor. He gave the barest, withered hint of a smile. “From now on, I think _Severus_ will suffice.”

And he strode from the room, his steel toe-caps tap-tapping on the bare boards.


End file.
